Lovingly Loony
by Harley-Cat
Summary: Nutty little Harley reflects during her time at Arkham.


They carry her down the bleak hallway; the walls ridden with cracks and stains like that of a crumbling house. The floor is hard and cold and as dead as the sanity of those who preside in this establishment. Softly, she giggles at the solid-faced MEN IN THE WHITE COATS that grasp her aching arms firmly and she thinks a single thought- _I'm home._

The MEN IN THE WHITE COATS lead her to a back room and get the fearsome female guards to remove her torn costume, making her wear that usual boring patient outfit that she thinks could use a great deal more washing and some bleach, instructing her in gruff tones that she wasn't going to attempt any funny business, especially since she was in no condition to fight them with her freshly-wounded arm and gash on her left knee since that darn Bat had gone and punished her for being so naughty with her Puddin' during that little homicidal caper she had taken part in.

Then, like usual, they take her to the comforts of her cozy little cell where good ole Doctor Leland is waiting for her with a troubled look on her face. Harley just grins at the woman and waltzes in, blowing a great big raspberry at the guards as she notices the absence of any pictures of her beloved Puddin'.

Time passes in days, weeks, and months as she watches the world being roughly carried down that gloomy corridor…patients of all varieties, shapes and sizes. Sometimes she'll smile at quirky Freddy Dindore, who just last week attempted to set the rec room on fire. Occasionally, she'll give a little chuckle as Missy Burniss, a lady who actually believed that witches were real and were coming to get her, passed by, muttering anti-hex spells the whole time.

But what made her smile most of all was seeing Arkham's biggest rogues…her family. There would be Two-face, whom she respected for his fierce, yet suave personalities. There was Red, also known as Poison Ivy who was her dearest friend in the whole wide world. There was good ole Eddie, with his constant babblings that got cutely nervous whenever she spoke to him. There was Croc, who she enjoyed outwitting with simple logic. There was dear Jonathan- a man who she looked up to and saw as a kindred spirit of some sorts because of their subtle similarities. There was sweet Jervis who was always so endearing and polite towards her. But most of all, there was her beautiful, glorious Mistah J, who she worshiped like no other…her guardian and lover who was flawlessly brilliant and stunning. She loved them, all of them, but she loved her Puddin' the most.

In the quiet of the night, she stared up at the blank ceiling and imagined him here with her, whispering seductively in her ear, nipping playfully at her cheeks as she giggled gleefully. She sang to the shadows that played tag along the walls, listening to their broken stillness. The sound was beautiful, as silent as the beats of a butterfly's wings, creeping up on her like a wild animal. It was like being in a silent film…and a sickly sweet one at that.

Day in, day out, they force-fed her pills and if she was naughty, the MEN IN THE WHITE COATS would come and put that unattractive white vest around her-the one that made her feel miserably uncomfortable and itchy all over. She hated the guards and the pills that made her beloved Puddin's face disappear into a cloud of haze for a few hours. Briefly, she would sink into a sort of daze in which she forgot the fact that she was in a madhouse full of rambling people, returning to a place long ago where a friendly-looking man gave her horsey-rides or held her tenderly on his lap and called her his dearest little girl while a pretty, red-headed woman watched then with a smile from afar. Sometimes, she would be a bright-eyed student again, sitting with a handsome, chestnut-haired boy under the shade of a large tree in the university courtyard, feeling the tender weight of his arm on her shoulder. She both loved and hated those memories…feeling an aching void in her heart as she clung on to them like a weeping child that has lost a beloved toy that she used to take such great pleasure in. And then, they would vanish away like the morning fog and she would remember her dearest Mistah J again and would squeak with joy and relief.

Once, she saw a ghost of her old self walk down the narrow corridor, blonde bun, ridiculous glasses and all. She had laughed so hard that the MEN IN THE WHITE COATS had to come and give her a warning to settle down. Sometimes, she would be forced to go to therapy with a man called Dr. Artie. Ole Atrsy-fartsy was just sickeningly annoying and she never ceased to take advantage of his painfully obvious toupee and weight problem. Artie was a miserable bore with his ramblings of being a ''model citizen'' and his ''your man isn't right for you, young lady''. During their sessions, she used to give him _such_ a headache as she laughed through his word-association, and his inkblots, and his hypno-therapy. She couldn't stand this man who denied her of being who she was and who she loved the most.

Eventually, poor Artie just gave up on her and decided to take up a productive hobby of bird watching somewhere in Maine. Dr. Arkham then preceded to hand Harley over to Joan Leland, in hopes that the former good friend of the once-professional Harleen Quinzel would be able to free Harley from whatever spell of madness she was under. Often, Joan would just break down during a session and hold Harley's face up to hers as she whispered softly with red-rimmed eyes, "Come back, Harleen…please come back…" But they both knew that the old doctor from the past was dead and gone, never to walk down the hallway with her clackity-clack shoes again.

As the guards escort her back to her cell, Harley spots her good buddy, Red being led down the hall for her own therapy session. Red gives her a small smile and winks. Their cells are close together, making them neighbors. Hell, Red is always right there to talk to Harley through the walls come nightfall. Harley is grateful that old Arkham was kind enough to give her someone to confide in without having to put on a pitiful mask of feigned sanity.

And then, all hell breaks loose as the Joker is wheeled in through the halls on a gurney in a straightjacket: all snug and ready for yet another round of shock treatment.

She sees her man in the horrid prison of uncomfortable fabric and bawls like a child throwing a tantrum, running to him as the guards spring at her, attempting to bring her to her knees. She lusts after him like a starving puppy would to scraps of meat and in her mass hysteria; it takes four men to bring her to the ground. From afar, Dr. Leland witnesses this and flees for the bathroom so that no one will see her shudder and breakdown with grief.

Above, Harley sees the dreaded needle containing the clear liquid that plagues her nightmares: she had been a very naughty girl again. And then, a sharp sting in her arm and she can feel the world of Arkham asylum grow giddily silly around her. The walls have turned pink and gray and the guard's faces look like balloons that Mr. Clown gives away to small children at the carnival. Her Mistah J is nothing but meaningless haze and smoke now and she feels herself slipping away from sensibility. And then, blackness.

She wakes, hours later back at her cell and she laughs frantically 'till tears flow down her cheeks and she bangs hers head against the stony wall. She knows that they had drugged her yet again and she hopes that Mistah J had fought them well during the shock therapy.

Presently, the harlequin turns her dazed focus on he light bulb on the ceiling that brightens her cell; fixated by its glowing, burning wonder-its tormentingly beautiful, like the sun that hovers in the sky in the world outside of her cell.

But she defies the sun, too. It is nothing more to her than a meaningless ball of burning gas. HE is her sun and no MAN IN A WHITE COAT or doctor, or guard can tell her otherwise .As she rolls on her side in her cot, she turns her back to the light bulb and faces the wall, preparing to drift into a tranquil rest away from all the ravings and cacklings and shoutings that take place in the outside world. She chooses to remain in insanity with Puddin'. Soon they'll get married and have lots of kids and those kids will have lots of kids and so on and so on 'till she and her Puddin' are old and gray and ready to die together. Then they'll never feel any hurt anymore, reaching a world where THE MEN IN THE WHITE COATS cannot reach them with their needles and their shock treatments. She and her Puddin' will dance in the starlight and soar through the clouds for eternity then…

Giggling, she wiggles her toes at the thought and begins to hum a bridal march. Presently, the hum echoes from her cell down the hallway, making the asylum dance and sway along with the sickening tune.

Even to this day, it haunts there still.

ell breaks looseh


End file.
